


let the fog burn let my wick fray

by imperiality (orphan_account)



Series: Halloween Fic Fest Fills [4]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fire Magic, Gen, Gen Work, Halloween, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-09
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2019-01-28 23:15:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12617740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/imperiality
Summary: Little bonfires are little things Keith and Pidge do. He can't look away from the flames, Pidge can't seem to get what he's after.But then she wants to spice it up on a Halloween night.This purple fog isoppressive.





	let the fog burn let my wick fray

**Author's Note:**

> The fourth and final installment of the Halloween Fic Fest!
> 
> I'm so sorry I couldn't get it out Halloween night, but I hope y'all enjoy the chill and low-key conclusion to the fic fest.
> 
> (As usual, betas to come later^^)

Licking, peeling flames have always mystified Keith the most. The very beginning of the process of even collecting the wood; the way bark scratches against his arms and chest. Then the release of throwing them into the pit- his arms are emptied only to be filled again. He reaches for lighter fluid, a match, a spark- and it begins.

He likes the flirting danger of kindling it. As he crouches to fan the flames with paper, he can almost kiss the heat on his face in return. It swelters him. It flicks at him. It comforts him.

He likes the control of tangible creation borne from his own two hands. He likes watching the chaos in the way the flames dance to the whims of the wind.

His clothes are embraced with smokey aroma until their next washing. His hair and face and hands are charred and tight and warm. 

When he watches whipping fire, he cannot _tear his eyes away._

Pidge doesn’t really get it. 

Sure she helped him gather the logs, stoke with the kindling. _Ooh_ and _aah_. That was… that was near the max of her extent. 

Now that they’re getting settled in, Pidge hasn’t seen Keith looking anywhere from the flames for- well. For a while. She doesn’t even see him blink. _Do his eyes even shift_?

She’s frankly a little worried.

Little blame can be put on him for being compelled, she will admit that. Well. Maybe not _so_ compelled. They don’t have the same eyes, they’re not looking through the same lens. She likes the warmth of the colors and the warmth on her arms. Fire is pretty in an empirical sort of way. But that was about it for her.

At first, Pidge could’ve let herself be glued to any piece of tech she could get her hands on. Her phone was her world, her laptop her sun. Coding became her daily bread but _man could not live on bread alone_.

Then she learned to look up. Her whole world expanded up and out. When Keith wasn’t hanging out with Shiro or antagonizing Lance, he would escort Pidge through the woods for hours.

Their little bonfire in her backyard brings their little treks from beneath their feet to the front of their palms.

The busy silence is what they enjoy the most. Usually. This time, Pidge in her impish, feline curiosity made a “special purchase”. 

It gives Keith special concern.

“You’ll love it! We just have to like, light it along with the fire. We’ll just… see what happens.” She put the lit candles near the seasoned kindling, and swears to him “It’ll be great! Stop with the face, dude. Trust me or something."

He doesn’t really want to know what’ll happen. Not really. But Pidge has seldom been wrong, so he’s willing to put up with whatever she’s got _up her sleeve_ this time.

Settling back into her lawn chair, she ganders long, sloppy and wandering at him. He watches the flame pulsing and beating before him, hearing only every other word. 

“It says on the box that the changing flames are supposed to give the watcher’s mind a ‘glimpse into their greatest hopes and fears’. That’s neat.” The lady’s voice is a warbled murmur beside him. “I’m actually kind of interested to see you do it, Keith. Mister mystery. Pun intended.” He scoffs absently. “I think this is actually a perfect way to spend our Halloween. Matt wasn’t up to do costumes this year so… this leaves us. And I want to see what you hope and fear most. If one of those fears isn’t me, we’re going to have problems.”

Her voice comes no closer, no clearer to Keith now than it did when she first started speaking. He says “sure,” assuming it’s a safe bet to cover his inattentive behind. And in some ways it was. In one way, it was not.

“Alright then.” Pidge blows on the flames with all her might. The grey smoke puffs up up up into the night. The flame turns yellow, white, blue before Keith’s eyes. “Ladies first, I guess.” Pidge says.

After the candle's wicks catch with the kindling, the _little gremlin_ loops around behind Keith’s chair. She waits, looking ahead to the pit. Keith slams his hands on the chair-arms, rising to say precisely what in the actual f-

When the flames turn violet.

And plume around him.

And embrace him.

And _consume_ him.

The last thing he feels was Pidge resting her chin on his head, the lawn chair’s canvas fabric under his elbows. The dewy grass under his talking converse. The autumn flames smothering him.

When he opens his eyes next, Pidge’s weight, the lawn chair the grass the flame the _warmth_ is gone. He sees purple. That’s pretty cool.

All around him he is immersed in thick, lilac fog. The puffy plumes of smoke aren’t moving an _inch_ , not when he spins in place or when he throws his arms every which way. The fog is staying where it damn well pleases.

He stands in place, patient. Waiting for something to change. Keith doesn’t have to wait too long in the silence before he starts hearing… the. The _voices_? From amidst and above and below the fog, whispered voices make idle talk as he stands. Some voices are deep and guttural. Some are shrill and effervescent. Some voices he painfully recognizes. 

He wishes he paid more attention to Pidge so he could know what he was supposed to be doing.

But he doesn’t. So instead, he just waits. He idles in the fog. The voices grow louder. Instead of a whisper, they speak they beckon they call out to him. The tones streamline.

After the voices come faces. One by one in a montage, faces of family members, friends and co-workers passes by him like a dream. He recognizes every single one. Should he… should he call out to them? Make his presence known? This whole middle realm between reality and fantasticality is too trippy for Keith. He doesn’t want to shatter the visage. 

He waits just a little bit more.

Then, they approach him. 

People from Keith’s adolescence and emerging adulthood start walking towards him. As they walk, little tendrils of smoke and fog trail behind them. (He waves his arms and hands again, but nothing shifts. What in the actual _fu-_ )

First he sees his childhood friends. They wave at him, skip around him. Call him to their games. _He thinks he’ll pass_. His high school friends wave much less ebulliently, but wave none the less. Lance, Hunk and Pidge all make an appearance, too. Is that _Shiro_ in the back? He could have sworn that was him.

He doesn’t see his father. _That’s strange_. None of his teachers, mentors or “adult figures” make their way into fog. Keith doesn't want to think too much of it.

In the grand finale of the runway for pivotal people in Kieth’s life, the last person he sees walking past is-

Good God did he just make eye-contact with _himself_? If he weren't standing still before, seeing his own reflection in sullen dolor would have stunned him to. As it is, his throat constricts. His hands fidget. His face recoils. 

His fog-self is the one that speaks with him first.

(He’d actually rather it _not_.)

And yet, it does. With his perverse face and swaggering walk and lavender eyes, each word that he says to Real Keith brings him closer to poison’s edge. In a near sneer, Montage Keith says to Real Keith, (elevator eyes and condescending eyebrow included with the package),

“Wow. I could say I’m surprised, but I’m not. This happens more commonly than you think. I’d be sad if it weren’t so… sad.”

Keith’s blood is simmering. “What are you even talking about?”

“Weren’t you even listening to your friend? When she put the candle in the pit? Don’t tell me you’re actually _surprised_ to see me.”

Keith’s blood is effervescing. “What are you _talking_ about? The candle Pidge put in? Is that why I’m here in all this obnoxious,” he swishes his arms, “ _fog_?”

“You really _weren’t_ listening. Is this a common thing for you, I’m assuming it is. I almost feel bad for your friend, how often do you just tune her out?”

Keith’s blood is _boiling._ “What are you **_talking_** about! Who _are_ you? Where am I? How do I _get out._ ” (And just because he doesn’t have his mother’s dagger on hand doesn’t mean he can’t fight his demons with his own bare hands.)

The Other Keith _tsks_ at him. “Okay, okay. I’ll put you out of your misery.” His hands move placatingly. “I’m you, dude.”

“Oh, really. I had a hard time noticing.”

And Other Keith’s laugh is so grating, Keith needs to wrap his hands to his side to fight the mighty urge to _rip out his throat_. “Hey, hey. No need to get testy with me, I’m literally you. Well. Not entirely. I’m who you think you are. Who you imagine yourself being. A uh… a manifestation of sorts, but I hate that word.”

So that answers one question.

But it cropped up so many more.

He moves on to more pressing things like, “Where are we?”

And this must be game to Other Keith, moving his tongue in his mouth, pushing the cuticles up his nails. Evasively he concedes, “Everywhere. And nowhere. At once, all at the same time. It’s fascinating.”

“Enough with these half-answers! Where are we!”

“Your mind.”

A straight answer. _Finally._ A satisfying answer? Hardly.

“My mind? How in the hell-“

“The candle, Keith. Your friend’s candle. That’s how in the hell.”

Right.

Pidge.

Pidge and her concerning purchase. Some things are suddenly coming together. All of a sudden. (All of a sudden he wishes he were less zoned-out when she put hallucinogenic substances in their bonfire. His concern refuses to cease its bidding.)

Well, Other Keith told him where he was, who he was. Now it was time to demand-

“How do I get. Out.”

Other Keith doesn’t seem too keen on the parapet of demands. His voice turns sharp and olympic. His voice curls out in a serpentine hiss,

“As it happens Keith,” he walks _right_ _up_ into his space. “You don’t just ‘get out’. And see, if you can’t handle it correctly, you don’t ever get out. Does that make sense to you?”

The only thing not making sense to Keith is why any of this has to be so difficult. Or, why Other Keith keeps insisting on treating Real Keith like a kid. They’re literally, actually the same person. Literally, actually. For the most part.

As if his point wasn’t articulated enough, he slithers _even closer_ to Keith while he criticizes. “But you want to get out, don’t you? You can’t stand being in one place for too long, it drives you insane. _Insane._ So if you’re stuck in your own mind, longer than you can even physically fathom?” Other Keith _hmmm_ s. “A fate worse than death, probably. You poor thing.”

Keith finds it a little pathetic that even his dream-self can’t spare a kind word for him. He finds it pathetic he can’t even pretend to be surprised. His alter persona spares him no mercy as he continues.

“How often do you zone out? How lucid are you really when you pretend to listen to your friends? How much do you actually care? Evidently not much if you let yourself sucked into an _alternate reality_. Do you think you deserve to call yourself a friend.”

And Other Keith keeps digging.

“With how little you really listen. With how little you do for them. You can brute force your way out of anything, can’t you. And let yourself hide behind it, saying you’re a man of action. What a load of BS. Do you even have it in you to hold something delicate? I doubt it. Which means that you obviously doubt it, too.”

Real Keith is… too confused. Too dazed. Too stricken to refute. (So far, he can’t even find fault in what his mind-self is saying to him.) He doesn’t think he’s too angry to articulate, but he’s quickly getting there.

“Let’s think about it logically, Keith. Why else would Pidge keep shooing you away from her projects? Why do you think Shiro keeps pulling you to watch the stars, in his last-ditch efforts for you to _chill the hell out_. Why do you think Lance keeps bothering you? Why do you think Hunk keeps vacillating his moods around you? You see the big picture, sure. You’re loyal to ‘the cause’”.

But the insinuation isn’t lost on him.

“The cause” is the only thing he seems to be loyal to anymore. 

“Answer honestly, Keith” his projection needles. “Do your ‘friends’ really come first, second, or dead ass _last_.”

And… Keith doesn’t know if they’ve come in at all. 

But they must have, right? He couldn’t possibly call them friends, they wouldn’t _let_ him call them his friends if he hadn’t prioritized them at least once. Right?

Right?

“Don’t tell me this is the first time you’ve considered this. That would just. Wow. Talk about out of touch.”

“You don’t need to tell me if I’m ‘out of touch’. They’re _my_ friends.”

“Exactly.”

Not for a second had Keith forgotten that the Other Keith was the same person as him. Of course they have the same friends. Of course they have same memories. (Of course they have the same voice.) The only difference between them is how liberal and loud Other Keith is admitting his faults. 

Even still, a figure of Keith’s asphyxiating imagination has no right to claim anything over Keith. 

No right.

“So tell me, how am _I_ going to know my friends any better than I do? I’m so curious!”

“I can’t tell you that because I don’t have to. I’m only telling you what you’ve been trying to silence for so long. Isn’t it liberating to finally be honest with yourself?”

Keith has been sick of this conversation before it even began. He expedites with all his might.

“The only liberation I’m going to get is when you finally decide to shut up about things I already know. How do I get out of here.”

Other Keith waves a finger, “Ah- ah. You don’t ‘get out’ of here. You have to deal with me, first.”

“Then how do I _get rid of_ ** _you_**!”

“You’re not getting it, Keith!” he matches his tone. “There is no ‘out’. There is no escape, I don’t know what your rush is. You are going to fall into your mind just like every person before, because you’re too weak to stand yourself. You’re too belligerent to open your eyes. You’re too tired to escape your own mind!” He throws his arms open wide. “So get comfortable.”

“No.”

Keith isn’t really about that life. 

_This whole thing is so_ stupid. _Why did Pidge_ light _the candle? Why is he stuck talking to his mind-projection who wants nothing but to take him down? Why can’t he fricking remember what Pidge_ said!

So Keith just _nopes_ on out of there. He sharply pivots from Other Keith, and runs frantically, sluggishly, dreamily in the other direction. Crap.

He must’ve ran for 5 minutes, at least. When he looks up and around again, it looks like he’d only paced 2 or 3 steps. Great. Other Keith is nowhere to be seen when he looks back behind him. He takes that as a good sign.

Until the empty purple fog starts populating again. Blurred faces start cropping up, never coming closer but never backing off. Their faces stay obscured, but their voices couldn’t echo any clearer. They grind and prod and skin Keith even harder, sharper and meaner then his self did.

His heart bleeds. Pulses. Aches when they tell him truths he’s been running circles around his whole life.

He can’t let himself coward under their words, no matter how sharp and concise their truths are. They tell him,

“You’ll never not know loneliness.”

_Keith doesn’t_ know _loneliness, he_ is _loneliness._

“Loneliness is all you’ll ever know.”

_Loneliness is all he has room to know._

“Your loneliness was drawn by your own hand!”

His knees buckle. _Of course it was. No one can_ thrust _loneliness on Keith. He’s always pushed people away. He’s never let them in. No wonder they got tired trying to open him up._

“Love is cursed to evade you.”

_That’s actually a lie. He’s always run from love. So hesitant, so awkward is he with it that even saying the word leaves odd aftertastes in his mouth. So unfamiliar is love to him that he doesn’t know if he’s ever felt it more than mere, fleeting moments._

“Love will never find you.”

_He’ll never look_ for _it._

“Love will never become you.”

Is that because the fate loves playing its hand against him? Is it because of the sins of his father? Is it because all the people who’ve even had the potential to love him, he’s already eschewed away? Is it because love is tired of him, and he’s tired of himself?

Is it because he doesn’t deserve it.

The word _love love love_ circles, drains and runs through his head. The voices around him finally quiet but his own voice does not. He suffocates and kneels under the pressure and volume of _love love_ ** _love_**.

He holds his hands to his temples, keeping his head from swelling. He ducks his chin to his neck, avoiding the shrill siren of his undulating thoughts. Yet still, _love_ and _love_ refuse to relent in the tsunami of his thoughts. 

A friendly face emerges from the fog.

“Shiro!”

He wears a starkly unfriendly expression.

“Shiro, what’s… what’s wrong?” Keith implores in his words, in his voice in his eyes. Even with all his silent and vocal begging, Shiro remains silent. Impassive. He lays a hand on his friend’s shoulder, trying one more time. “What are you doing here?”

Shiro speaks at last. “I could ask you much of the same. Why didn’t you listen to Pidge? You know better than to leave her to her own devices, especially at these bonfires you two have. How many times have you almost burned yourselves, her backyard, her garage, her _house_? You have to be more careful.”

“Yes, Shiro. But-“ Keith stops. He quiets. He has no “but” or “therefore” or “however” to reroute on. He lets the silence burn and smother them both.

His friend resumes. “You know better. I know you do. And even though you know better and you’re _stronger_ than this, you’re still stuck in here. Why is that?”

Keith doesn’t know. Keith doesn’t know a _damn thing_ and he’s so frustrated he could cry. He’s so confused he could scream. He’s so helpless he could walk right in a fire and not feel a lick of flame. (He feels like he’s doing it anyway; Shiro’s words scalpel him from the inside out.)

“Why are you still here, Keith?” he pushes. “Is it because you want to be? Is it because you can’t find your way back? There’s no rush for you to return in the first place. If you feel like you belong here, then by all means, stay. No one can pressure you into where you do or don’t feel like being. It’s entirely up to you.”

And that’s the whole thing. Keith has never known where he’s belonged. Does he belong with Shiro, Lance, Hunk and Pidge? Does he belong with his father he barely got the chance to know? (He couldn’t possibly “belong” back to his mother, fate wouldn’t be so cruel. Would it?) Does Keith belong on Earth below, or somewhere higher in the stars?

Where could Keith possibly belong more than his own mind?

He _has_ to belong, even as it screams at him:

_Your anger will befall you!_

_You were bequeathed misfortune and grief and_ loss.

_You will never be found._

_You will never find love._

_You will never belong._

Even as Shiro whispers to him, “Will you even know peace?”

And no. No, Keith doesn’t think he will.

Like _hell_ is he going to admit it, though. Tears in his eyes, breaks in voice and folds in his frame he confronts him. “I’ll find it, Shiro. I _can_ find peace.”

If he can’t find love, if he can’t find comfort, if he can’t find some place to belong, he’ll chase peace on every horizon until his feet and heart _splinter_.

He _will_!

As his bitter wages war inside him, Shiro’s gentle and toxic words go through him, as the flames wave over him, a melody begins to wring all around him.

A beautiful symphony of exhorting voices sift up from Keith’s mind. Soft are they, like falling onto endless sky. Gentle are they, like the lingering touch of a mother’s caress (that Keith will never know.) Louder are they, as one by one they talk over Shiro’s accidental condescending. 

Keith can parse them out.

First he hears Lance’s passion, pulling him to awaken in coaxing timbre. “ _Keith, Keith. Can you hear me? You_ do _belong and we need you, dude. You’re not too much, and you’re just enough._ ”

Lance’s face never comes into view from the fog, but Keith can trace his silhouette in smudging lines. A new figure joins Lance’s in the distance. Unsurprisingly, a new voice _wails_ in Keith’s ears as he fights his own disbelieve.

_“Keith! We’re so sorry we couldn’t be here sooner!_ _Please wake up, it was all an accident! We didn’t know what it would do! Come back to us, buddy.”_

Wait… what?

Pidge’s voice and outline drift in and out in the thin tendril of a breath. 

“ _It_ was _an accident, and I’m so sorry Keith. I didn’t mean it. I never meant to push you away. I never meant to get you stuck inside yourself. I never meant you to feel like you don’t belong. You’re like family, Keith. Please wake up._

Wake up?

Keith lifts his head again, but Other Shiro isn’t there. Neither are his friends distant outlines. Neither is the fog.

Where is the fog?

From when he was kneeling, he lifts his knees up to stand on his feet. Warily he looks around him, still expecting to see the outlines of his friends. Of his demons. Of himself.

This time, only purple emptiness awaits him.

His friend’s calling grows louder.

All at once they beseech of him,

_Wake up! Come back to us! We miss you! It was an accident! You belong with us, we need you. We need you._

**_I didn’t mean it_**.

But Shiro’s voice was missing from the rest of them. He thinks that’s what snaps him to awareness first.

In the snap of a finger or the drop of a dime, Keith extricates himself from the purple fog back into grey smoke.

He nearly gags.

Lurching over, Keith finally _finally_ feels again. Lance’s hands grip his left arm, Hunk’s on his right. Pidge- poor, pitiful distraught Pidge frets and frets and frets in front of him. Her back blocks the brunt of the fire’s smoke. She’s the first to speak, but all she says is “Oh Keith. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, _I’m sorry._ ”

And Keith kind of figures she’s really sorry about the whole thing.

But apologies can come later. What he really needs to know is, “Where’s Shiro?”

Sensation returns to Keith piece by piece. He rubs the harsh folding-chair canvas beneath his hands again. He breathes in the bonfire smoke until he almost chokes it up. He absorbs the extra warmth of Lance’s and Hunk’s hands, only letting himself focus on one feeling at a time. Then, at his back, he feels Shiro’s even murmur than he hears it. 

“You don’t really think I’d let you stay sucked in your own mind, do you?” he says as welcoming. “Aside from Pidge’s questionable choice of purchase, that’s what worries me the most.”

Keith chuckles. “I guess so. But-“ he looks around at all his friends’ dimly-lit faces. “How did you even know what I was saying?”

Pidge speaks up first. Even though she’s completely back-lit by the fire, he can imagine her worry fierce and strong in his mind. “You spoke while you were hallucinating. You, uh… The fire was supposed to show you your greatest fears. And hopes.”

Lance picks up her slack. “You were afraid of your own mind the most, Keith. If that doesn’t say anything-“

“Pidge called us as soon as you passed out,” Hunk gets in Keith’s face. “We’re sorry we didn’t come sooner. We were doing our own Halloween things, but when Pidge told us you might be _dying_ on us we didn’t have any choice.”

Pidge concludes. “The fire was supposed to show you your greatest fears and hopes. So, if you were your greatest fear, then that means-“

“We’re your greatest hope. Isn’t that right, Keith. That’s right, right? Right!” Lance exclaims. 

“We’re so glad we could wake you up in time,” Hunk blubbers.

And Pidge can’t seem to prostrate herself enough, but Keith has had far enough of that.

“Pidge.” He looks her in the eye. “Really, it’s okay. It’s my fault I didn’t listen more clearly. I’ll-“ _he’s afraid of losing her as a friend._ “I’ll listen to you more. I promise.” _He’s afraid of making promises we can’t keep._

Shiro silences it all for them. “I’m going to stop it right there.” He lays a steady hand on both Keith’s and Pidge’s shoulder. “The time for blame has passed. It doesn’t matter whose fault it is anymore; it’s already passed. Keith, we’re sorry we haven’t made you feel like you belong more in this family. _That_ is something we all need to apologize for. We had no idea you felt that way.”

But how could they? How could they possibly know when he hadn’t voiced any of his doubts before then?

He scorns his dream-self being so vindictive. He’s still dubious with Pidge for making the purchase and following through with it, but forgiveness is quick to the mend.

Above all, he’s safe and secure and _aware_ within his friend’s accepting smiles.

“We’re so glad we could bring you back, Keith.”

Does Shiro’s presence in his mind make him both a hope _and_ fear? 

(Maybe, hope is something Keith considers to be both beautiful and fearsome at once. It is dangerous in his eyes. He wants to keep and grasp and hold it all. He hopes he never lets go.

He hopes to keep his family with him always. The people that surround him now is the family he’s cultivated for himself, and he hopes they think of him the same.

He hopes that if love can’t find him, he can find it in Lance, Hunk and Pidge and Shiro themselves.

He hopes this Halloween never ends.


End file.
